Day of the Dragon
by Flamedancer33
Summary: Once upon a time the mighty Balthazar Blake was nothing more than a mere apprentice, and the smart man fears the mischief of the sorcerer's apprentice more than the magic of the sorcerer.
1. The Story

I know, I know, I have two or three other stories that need work. I don't need to be distracted by some epic… well, epic. Except I couldn't help it. You see, I sometimes just sit there typing nonsense while thinking, and when I tuned in again I found myself starting a story with a dragon's irritated opinion and couldn't help but follow through.

I have no idea how long this will be. I do know where I'm going with it, which is somewhat unusual. It's tied in to my other two stories but you don't need to read them to understand this. Also, I have taken liberties with Balthazar's past, since we know absolutely nothing about it. If I am proved wrong at a later date, this will be labeled AU.

Also, I have neither the creativity nor research capabilities to be era-appropriate. I'll try to avoid using modern phrases, but I can promise nothing.

Disclaimer: me no own.

#

The dragon, not that anyone ever thought to ask, was named Tr'Arlth. It was a harder name to pronounce than its human spelling led one to think. He lived a long and fairly eventful life, as dragons are wont. He had already gone through his third shedding, a bit past the prime of his life, the day that child-sorcerer wandered into his world.

Dragons normally savor the death of a sorcerer- the only humans who could lord over them- and Tr'Arlth was no exception. This one smelled of the Mur'lynn, that which was most powerful of their hated kind, and Tr'Arlth had known it to be important to that one. Had he managed to kill it, he would have been a hero amongst his foundering race.

Had he managed to kill it, he would have unknowingly changed the fate of everything, for the boy would have a hand in the saving of the world on more than one occasion. That came later, though, when he was tired and jaded and resigned to dying for the love of a woman instead of at the behest of some grand cause.

Once upon a time the mighty Balthazar Blake, keeper of the Grimhold, sealer of Morgana, Merlin's last- and, some dared to whisper, greatest- student, was nothing more than a mere apprentice. And the smart man fears the mischief of the sorcerer's apprentice more than the magic of the sorcerer.

#

There was something inherently _cool_ about hanging out with sorcerers, Becky Barnes had discovered. Even if her boyfriend's spells failed more often than they succeeded, even if he was in fact something of a hazard to be around, there was still his teacher- she had a very hard time accepting the antiquated idea of apprenticeship, although Dave himself seemed to have no objections- and his teacher's girlfriend.

There was a parade of cardboard boxes scooting along, hovering an inch off the ground, and Becky was doing homework while sitting cross-legged on an armchair adhered to the wall five feet up in an attempt to get it out of the way. How was that _not_ incredible?

Balthazar himself wandered along, sipping at something that smelled like chamomile, watching his handiwork distractedly. She had only ever seen him give his full attention to Dave's magic lessons and Veronica, and she was grateful for the reprieve; he was an intense man, easily intimidating her even though she knew he wouldn't hurt a fly.

"Do you want down?" he asked abruptly, glancing briefly at her. He had asked earlier, once he realized she was there, about two minutes after he'd put the chair on the wall.

"I'm fine," she said reassuringly, and she was- intimidating or not, she instinctively knew she could trust him. Dave called it the Merlinian effect and considered it to be an extreme aggravation.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Dave himself charged through the front door, dodging Balthazar with the hard-earned grace of the terminally clumsy. He knocked into two boxes and sent their contents flying, swinging his backpack in counterbalance to his own wild careening, babbling excuses for his lateness. It took a full eight seconds before he stopped dead in his tracks and turned to regard them, Becky in her chair on the wall and Balthazar calmly sipping his tea as though his hurricane of an apprentice hadn't just made one of his typical entrances.

"Uh, what is this?" he asked, bewildered.

"She's helping me, just like I asked," Balthazar replied smoothly, and Becky instantly liked him all the more for being tactful enough to not say _she's staying out of the way, just like I wanted_.

"I was wondering if you still had this," a voice said behind Dave. All three watched as Veronica, who had knelt down to sort through the stuff spilled out of the boxes, picked up what looked like a piece of ivory. As she straightened, Becky got a better look at it and revised her theory.

"Is that a crocodile tooth?" she asked, confused; if it was, she didn't want to see the mouth it came from. It was cylindrical, tapering to a point, as long as an unsharpened pencil and wide as three fingers at the base, slowly curving up to its wickedly sharp end with just a touch of serration. Something with a mouthful of teeth like that could swallow a human in one and a half bites.

"Close enough," Balthazar said, sounding not at all like his normal unhurried, absentminded self. He was as bad a liar as he claimed Dave to be, in his own way. Becky wasn't quite brave enough to call him out on it.

Fortunately, others were. "Oh, really," Veronica shot back challengingly, rolling the tooth in her hand. "The mighty Balthazar Blake, dragon slayer, is ashamed of his moment of triumph?"

"Dragon slayer?" Dave echoed.

"I didn't slay any dragons, Veronica," Balthazar said to her, trying to regain control of the conversation. Unfortunately for him, that simply wasn't happening.

"And without his magic, no less," Veronica added, and Balthazar visibly gave up. He unsubtly scoped out the exits and began to drift towards the front door.

The chair Becky was in slowly descended- no telling which one of them did that, so she didn't bother saying thanks- and she hopped off, stepping around the boxes and into the living room.

It had been Dave's suggestion that the two ancient sorcerers move in together, mostly to get Balthazar out of his lab. Two weeks, a torturous three days of house hunting, and several meltdowns later, here they were on moving day, abandoning their responsibilities to sit in a circle and gossip like teenage girls.

The couch was already in the living room, so they settled down on it. Becky held herself at a respectful distance from Veronica- one might think that, as the two girls, they would bond instantly, but there was more than a thousand years difference between the two, and they came from opposite cultures. The sorceress wasn't necessarily unfriendly, quite the opposite in fact, but there was simply very little for them to bond over.

Dave held out his hand and Veronica dropped the tooth in his palm. He carefully rolled it in his palm, touching a finger gently to the tip. "This is a real dragon tooth?"

"Mm hm," Veronica nodded, watching Balthazar lean against the living room doorframe. "A true dragon, from before they died out. They were already supposed to have been extinct even before I was born."

Balthazar made a noise like a snort. All three paused to look at him. Realizing he was encouraging the madness, he dipped his head and backed away into the hallway.

"Why would he be ashamed at having beat a dragon?" Becky asked, studying the tooth. It looked even larger up close, and she shivered to think of a young Balthazar facing off against its owner.

"He didn't beat it so much as outsmart it, which honestly wasn't all that difficult," Veronica answered. "Dragons were straightforward thinkers, and anyone with an ounce of cleverness could get the better of them. The problem was in surviving to tell the tale."

"Are you going to tell them or just confuse them?" Balthazar demanded, and Veronica pinned him with her will-tolerate-no-crap glare.

"Would you rather tell them?" she asked frostily, and he backed off again. After a moment, content that he wasn't going to interrupt, she nodded once and turned her attention back to the two kids.

"It started when we were children. Balthazar was youngest and newest of the three apprentices, and we judged him harshly for it. He was the orphan of a simple farmer, you see, happily sold by his brother to a fate unknown, while Maxim and I were both from high-born families and given to Merlin to train at only a few months of age."

Becky felt her eyebrows rise. She leaned over to see into the hallway, where the farmer's orphan was sitting, sorting through the boxes and ignoring the conversation. No wonder he didn't like broadcasting his history, if this was how it started.

"I freely admit we treated him poorly," Veronica added sadly. "Merlin was wise enough not to get involved, for we would have seen that as favoritism, and Balthazar was clever enough to keep his head down and stay away from us. He never felt the need to prove himself to us, save for that one time.

"We were your age, or thereabouts, when Merlin left on one of his trips. We were old enough then, and tolerated each other well enough, that he felt it was safe." She paused, shook her head. "He should have known better. Balthazar had just mastered a difficult spell days before we had, and our resentment had reached a new height. There were rumors, you see, amongst the local villagers that a farmer's son was a better sorcerer than a pair of nobles' children. Maxim heard them, and he got very angry, and then he began to plan…"

.

Balthazar twisted the sack around expertly, tying a looping knot in the top and dropping it on the table next to the others. Merlin was perfectly capable of handling this himself, but he was of the opinion that having apprentices meant his days of menial labor were over.

"And you're certain you have to leave now?" the young man asked, cautious. He didn't want to come out and say it, didn't need to. His old master gave him a reassuring smile.

"Yes, I am," he said simply, one hand resting briefly on Balthazar's shoulder before he moved away. Balthazar watched him stop and gaze out the window. There was a gathering darkness that hung over the north like a storm front. Merlin had been watching it far longer than his apprentices had known it was there.

Veronica came bustling into the room, causing both men to turn. She had a long cloak whose frayed hems had been repaired. Merlin gave her the womanly chores, so the two boys didn't dare breathe a word of complaint around her. There was nothing more frustrating and humbling than a sorceress-apprentice of Merlin having to do sewing and cooking merely because she was female.

The one time someone else had dared treat her like a normal woman- the son of a noble, just passing through- he had woken up the following morning to find all his clothes had shrunk overnight and were now too small for him. Maxim and Balthazar alike knew better than to allow him to borrow some.

"I'll be gone a month, perhaps two," their master said, taking the cloak with a nod of thanks. "Try not to kill each other, or burn down the tower."

The former was a common farewell for Merlin. The latter was somewhat newer, having been picked up after he'd returned a year or so ago to find the tower smoking and his soot-smudged apprentices sitting sullen and quiet in front of it. In a rare display of unity, all three had stubbornly refused to point fingers.

They followed him down the stairs, winding their way through the tower. Maxim was conspicuously absent, but then he was upset at being left behind; a few weeks ago, before the foul wind had started blowing, Merlin had promised to take him on this trip. He had rescinded the offer the day before and now Maxim was sulking.

For all that he looked old as the earth itself, Merlin was strong and hale; he slung himself easily onto the back of his big gray gelding. Balthazar, who had always had a way with animals, scratched the horse between the eyes and was nearly knocked off his feet as the big beast sighed and butted its head against his shoulder. Veronica stood at Merlin's side, handing up the sacks and helping him tie them on the saddle.

"Take care of each other," he added grimly, which was new. The two apprentices exchanged confused looks, silently asking each other if he actually thought they would.

Then they stepped back as the big gray, light on his feet and ready to run, half-bolted out the doors and onto the plains beyond. His joyful whinny echoed in the courtyard. Balthazar watched until they were nothing more than a smudge on the green fields. Then he turned and headed into the tower, not sparing Veronica a glance as she did the same.

Merlin or no, they had work to do.

#

Not far away, in the village pub, a young man sat wide-eyed, listening to the talk ebb and flow around him. In some distant corner of his mind, a crystalline rage was forming. After a long few minutes he stood, pulling his hood over his head so the commonfolk wouldn't identify him, and walked out.

He had a rival to deal with.


	2. The Audience

From now on, the story is almost entirely set in the past. I'll try to add something from the present in each one, although I might not manage it- I'm putting them in as it calls for it. The separation is a '.' instead of the scene separator, which is '#'. If anyone can tell me a good way to keep this stupid site from _eating my formatting_, it would be much appreciated.

Also, this isn't going to be as epically long as I feared, which is good, since it means I'm more likely to actually finish it. Never fear, though, I foresee at least ten chapters. And Balthazar-whump, because beating on him is more fun than I anticipated. And a full-on sorcerer-versus-dragon fight, because I kinda cheated y'all by glossing over a certain encounter in this chapter.

disclaimer: me no own.

#

There was trouble brewing, Balthazar knew. His shoulders had gone tense, as if waiting for a blow to fall on his unguarded back, and every so often he stopped to watch the door.

Some time ago, Maxim had come storming into the tower, raised voice echoing from the courtyard walls. Things had since gotten eerily quiet, and Balthazar was waiting- he wasn't that hard to find, and he simply knew this was some new complaint about him.

Take care of each other, Merlin had said. You will be each other's greatest allies in the trials to come, Merlin had said. To Balthazar alone, he had cautioned patience, and the wisdom to know when to accept an unfair beating and move on. There would be peace, he had promised, if not in the world at large then at least among them.

Sometimes Balthazar wondered if Merlin truly knew what he was about, or if his only option was to hope for the best.

Maxim was standing in the doorway, he could feel it. His right hand curled into a fist, the band of his ring pressing tight against the skin of his palm. They had not yet come to trading blows, either physical or magical, but the recent months had led Balthazar to realize that it was only a matter of time.

"So the master has gone, and left the children to play," the other boy said. He had a cultured accent, for all that he had been raised by a man who stood apart from society's fallacies. Balthazar didn't know where he'd heard it to replicate it, or even if he had; perhaps it was Balthazar's own ignorance that made the difference.

"So it seems," he agreed calmly, trying to unknot muscles painfully tensed. His ring glowed, a defensive spell weaving itself unbidden around him. The magic came so easily to him, who was chosen by Merlin instead of deposited on his doorstep. It wasn't that he was better than the other two, merely that he was stronger where they were not and less skilled where they excelled. They covered the spectrum, Merlin's three apprentices; should they learn to fight side by side, each weakness would be balanced by another's strength.

"Are you aware of what they say about you, down in the village?" Maxim asked. Balthazar could count on one hand the number of times the other boy had called him by name.

"Should I be?" he countered, still keeping his back turned. It irritated Maxim when he did that, and Balthazar freely admitted that irritating Maxim was its own reward.

"They call you the greatest of us," Maxim said, stepping further into the room. From the sound of his voice he was facing the wall, dismissing Balthazar as Balthazar dismissed him. "That you would be the most powerful sorcerer, Veronica and I ever relegated to your shadow. They like you."

A great insult, to be liked by the common people. Balthazar calmly rolled up the scroll he had been reading, tucking it into its protective sheath. Patience was one of his.

"Is that what they say?" he asked finally. Maxim wasn't here for Balthazar to tell him otherwise; his own ego provided all the reassurances he needed. Maxim was here for an entirely different reason.

"But then, they would think that, of a low-born boy," Maxim continued. "It is always the lot of the common man to look above his station in envy."

A sorcerer's apprentice was not a common man by anyone's definition. And Balthazar had been perfectly content with his station, before Merlin; it had been the old man who had had bigger plans for the small boy.

"Such a pity, isn't it, that their hero is an untried boy." There was a whisper of noise; the older boy was carefully paging through a book. "Not having raised his magic once, in defense or attack, not even in frustration against his fellow apprentices."

Even when they deserved it, Balthazar finished for him, and right now one of them was all but getting down on his knees and begging him to try it. Very slowly, he turned to regard the other boy. Maxim was caressing the hilt of his shortsword, into which he had embedded the jewels of the ring he had never much cared to wear. Swordplay was one of his.

Both of them were sitting on thirteen years' worth of resentment, the depth of their anger surprising both the other and themselves. If Balthazar struck first- and he did- it was because Maxim had always had a gift for playing people, and knew how to force Balthazar's hand without tipping his own.

Merlin had learned from Alexandria's example; his library was proofed against destruction, by fire or feuding apprentices. Such forethought served him well that day.

.

In the hallway, trying to ignore the conversation in the living room, Balthazar set the second box upright and sent it on its way. The armchair Becky had been sitting in maneuvered itself carefully into the living room, where an astounded silence reigned.

Back in those days, he thought grimly, he had been a different person. So hesitant, so unsure, with no idea of how the world worked or what his place was in it. He'd still been a farmer's son, then. That boy, so lacking in confidence and self-respect, would not have survived a thousand years on his own, fighting Morganians and wondering if tomorrow was the day he would find the Prime Merlinian, or perhaps die, unable to tell which one appealed more to him.

Veronica called him dragon slayer. She hadn't meant the dragon whose tooth he still had, who had lived probably decades after their encounter. She meant the dragons that lived inside him, that lived inside everyone, wearing a different face for each fear.

He stood up, trying not to wince at the sudden motion. True enough, he was in surprisingly good shape for someone born around the sixth century, but a thousand-plus years of hard living had its price, even for a sorcerer.

The ever-wise Veronica had seen to it that the first completed room was the kitchen; Balthazar set another pot of tea to brewing and leaned against the counter, studying his right hand. Even the nastiest of scars fade, if given enough time. Nothing he'd gotten when he was Dave's age stood a chance of lasting this long. Still, his memory provided all the details flawlessly, and he traced a finger over the unmarked skin, normally shielded by dual layers of heavy cloth and leather.

There was a reason for everything he did, even if no one else quite understood it; that day had taught him to protect his hands.

An opened bag of chips rested on the counter beside him. He scooped it up and picked a few out, munching contentedly and listening to the sound of his own history.

.

The greatest casualty, to Balthazar at least, was his hand. The skin had been scorched, and likely would have blistered and cracked and sloughed off before it was done, save that Veronica had a gift for healing. She had healed him only enough to safeguard against infection, though; the pain, and he had never understood just how exquisitely painful burns could be, was still very much present.

His right hand, also. He wouldn't be able to use it for weeks, if he were lucky. His ring he slipped onto the first finger of his left hand. It felt uncomfortably loose.

He had tolerated Veronica's fussing over him but not the lecture she treated him to; when she had healed him as much as her temper would allow her, he walked out mid-sentence. Maxim hadn't bothered to put in an appearance, no doubt weaving a grand tale to tell Merlin about how Balthazar had viciously attacked him. Merlin would know better than to believe him unquestioningly, but this outright violence was not something he could ignore, or watch from afar.

Two weeks Balthazar avoided his fellow apprentices. He spent the time out wandering, exploring the nearby village and, ironically, making friends amongst the people. He would not let Maxim's jealousy dictate his life. His wounds healed slowly, the hand by far the worst; the skin was baked dry and would not stretch and pull as it should, forcing him to hold his hand stiffly, and the slightest touch or twitch made him gasp.

Seventeen days of this, and the tension was broken by a visit from the village's head-man, bearing a tale of a long-dead beast.

#

Merlin, older than time as far as they were concerned, had never to his apprentices' recollections paid for his food or lodging in coin. He did move quite frequently, but always to someplace close to a village of respectable size, where they had the resources to support him and the patience to tolerate him. He also never kept a staff that they knew of. Perhaps he had, once, but servants demand pay where apprentices do not.

Instead, he had always paid the local community for his intrusion in favors. Fair winds, mellow storms and winters, animals birthing easily, fields and people alike staying clear of the diseases that plagued their neighbors. The people always knew who was to thank for this but few were brave enough to approach the sorcerer. Once in a very rare while, though, something would happen that would require direct intervention. For this the village tended to send its head-man.

Balthazar was in the stables- care of the horses fell solely on him, since animals took to him faster even than to Merlin- when he heard a clatter of hooves within the courtyard. He spared a glance through the door, confirming their visitor, before ducking back the other way into the side door that led into the tower. Once inside the open door he reached out with his right hand, caught himself with a wince, and slapped his left palm to the stonework wall, sending a ripple through the tower. A few moments later Maxim arrived.

"What is it?" he asked, animosity for once put aside in response to the emergency summons.

"A rider from the village," Balthazar replied, and the older boy glanced nervously through the half-open door to the stables. This was the first time a visitor had come to call when Merlin wasn't home to receive them; as his senior apprentice, Maxim would be expected to fill in the role. An intimidating request, to say the least.

"Leave the horse," he ordered after a moment, "and get changed. We'll meet him in the Hall, as sorcerers should."

#

The tower was not, as one might expect, a maze of magic and spells, woven into each other and giving the place a life of its own. Such constant exposure tended to wear on a sorcerer's nerves and made it damnably hard to sleep. There were, of course, such rooms- the practice room and library being the main two- but mostly the tower was disappointingly commonplace.

Merlin's one concession to the power of appearances was what would be the great hall, where this a castle; as it was not, it was simply the Hall. The room breathed magic, both real and the expected nonsense. Old books and half-melted candles littered the room. In one corner was the low skeleton of a reptilian beast from Egypt, long tooth-studded snout grinning. There was a hole in one wall, angled just so that sunlight never shone directly in, and a prairie hawk had used it this spring and built herself a nest in the rafters. Her nestlings watched over the room keenly, occasionally giving their piping screech.

Veronica sailed into the room, dressed as well as the noble she could have been, spine perfectly straight and face serene. Balthazar envied her composure. Most people viewed Merlin's having a female apprentice as a benign quirk but Veronica herself was judged harshly for her lot in life, as if she were to blame for being able to use magic. That she was the cleverest of the three, quickest to learn, and that her male compatriots respected her and perhaps even feared her was of no consequence. Most likely she would be ignored throughout this meeting, as though she were nothing more than a pretty decoration.

She ran a critical eye over him and nodded once in acceptance more than approval. Balthazar simply didn't care about his appearance, and no amount of training or ridiculing would ever make him start. And then Maxim was there, hurriedly waving them to their appropriate spots, and before he could quite settle himself into his own the door creaked open and their guest walked in.

It took courage to come into the home of a sorcerer, even a benevolent one. The man had it in spades, and strode into the room as if he owned the whole tower. His gaze skimmed briefly over the room, then the three apprentices. He settled on Maxim, who was still standing and projecting an air of command.

"Where is your master, boy?" he asked brusquely, and Maxim bristled. The man had a farmer's broad sturdy build and large work-callused hands. He wasn't too much older than they were, but he carried a maturity and experience that the three children lacked. For all their learning, the apprentices were sheltered and doted upon; this man had seen how apathetically cruel life truly was and would not be impressed by them.

"Out," Maxim said shortly, "on a trip that is no affair of yours."

"Fair enough. When is he due back?" came the mild reply. A puppy's harmless yapping, Maxim's words were. Balthazar frowned and shared a glance with Veronica. This encounter was being handled incorrectly, but neither one would say anything. If all else failed, they were very good at presenting a unified front to outsiders.

"You have quite an unusual way of asking a favor," Maxim growled.

"And your master has an unusual way of repaying his debts," the villager snapped back. "I was told we could come address him directly. Not some child."

Balthazar leaned back, slowly. He looked over to Veronica, who gave him a ghost of a smile and a nod. She knew what he was intending.

"If that is what you wish, then you are welcome to present your complaint to him, when he comes back," Maxim snapped.

"Then I will," the villager answered easily, and turned and walked out.

In the shocked silence that followed, Balthazar could easily count the man's steps. Once the heavy, hollow thud of the main door closing had quit echoing, he pushed himself out of his chair and strode across the room.

Maxim's silent, condemning glare followed him out.

#

He wasn't really surprised to find the villager waiting for him, at the bottom of the hill and out of the tower's line of sight.

"I was talking to that young fool, but I was watching the two of you," he said without preamble, turning his horse to walk beside Balthazar's. "Especially you. You're the one my boy says visits the village."

It wasn't a question, so Balthazar ignored it. He chose his words with care, his tone mild and peaceable. "I understand why you would wish to see Merlin, if you came to see him and not us. But while we may be mere apprentices, we are Merlin's apprentices, and when you insult us you insult him." What Veronica would have said, were she here.

The man watched him, dark eyes taking his measure. He had changed before setting out, and rode easily without a saddle. Like Veronica and Maxim, he wore his heritage writ plain across his face, and this was a rare time he was grateful for it.

"It can't hurt," the man decided at length. "But if it needs it, your word you'll ride out for your master?"

"Of course," Balthazar said immediately. They might not find him, but if this was serious enough to need him, they'd certainly look.

"There is a beast plaguing the eastern reaches, just outside your master's command," the farmer began. "It comes and goes, here for days and gone for a season. Our boys see it occasionally, and a few have even been taken by it."

Balthazar frowned, puzzled. No beasts he knew of fit that pattern of behavior- a hungry wolf would take a child, certainly, but in order to reach the eastern border of Merlin's influence, one must ride a day and a half. Not even a shepherd would go that far on foot. And no lone wolf, no matter how hungry, would challenge a horse.

"The last one to see it returned with proof, only yesterday eve," the man continued. "He had a name for the beast, also. He called it dragon."

"Ah." Balthazar nodded once, as if in agreement. The man chuckled darkly.

"Now, I know what you're thinking, boy. I've heard all the same things you have- the last dragon fell during my grandfather's grandfather's day, brought down by the arrow of the crown prince himself."

Balthazar made a noise of agreement, careful not to offer offense. Thus was as he had heard it. The name of the prince himself, having not lived to claim the throne, was an unimportant fact lost to the tides of history in their small war-savaged country. Not that such things mattered to him; Anglo and Briton alike feared and respected the sorcerer, and Merlin had guarantee of a warm welcome on whichever side of the line he should find himself.

"But the boy now says it's a dragon, and I believe him."

Quiet patience, as noticeable and yielding as stone underfoot, was Balthazar's truest strength. Like as not his time was being wasted. He wouldn't know, until he saw what was to offer, and withheld judgment until such time.

"Then I suppose you had best show me."


	3. The Thief

This chapter is awkward and I don't really like it. But that's okay because the next one will be much better, as it properly- finally- introduces the dragon. Ya know, the one this story is titled after.

This is the transition phase, you could say. Out with the setup and in with the action. Also, as previously stated, all knowledge of the era is spotty at best, so take historical references with a grain of salt. And as a final note, I'm back from visiting my family and therefore unfortunately have more things to do than sit around being bored all day, which is why updates have slowed down.

Disclaimer: me no own.

#

The farmer's name was Willem, a bastardized form of some royal something-or-other. He was a no-nonsense sort of man, and didn't need to know such things as where names came from. His was knowledge of the land, and the working thereof.

The magic boy bore an unusual name- Balthazar, he had called himself, which in Willem's opinion was a mouthful too long and a touch too daunting for such a quiet boy. He had a ring on his left hand with which he fidgeted almost nonstop. Willem didn't comment on it. Obviously Merlin saw something in this boy, or he wouldn't be here; Merlin did not suffer fools lightly.

It quickly became clear that, for his faults, Balthazar had strengths as well. He had a way with children, surprising considering how rarely he interacted with them, and settled himself cross-legged in front of the boy who had been attacked. After a quarter hour, he had coaxed out the story, inquiring after specific details, voice soft and gaze sharp as he weighed every word.

Willem sent one of his own boys scuttling off, to get something of far more import than the word of a scared twelve-year-old. Balthazar stood and wandered over to him.

"It doesn't have to be a dragon," he said at long length, sounding utterly unconvinced. Willem shook his head.

"Is that a question?" he asked wryly, and the boy grimaced. "Just out of curiosity, who decided the dragons were all gone?"

"No one did, really," the boy admitted. "Their numbers had been winnowed down to almost nothing. When the last one fell to the prince's arrow, all the other dragons appeared to have fallen off the face of the earth. There have been no attacks or sightings since."

"Ah," Willem said simply.

"These creatures aren't capable of living quiet lives," Balthazar said, defensive. "If there was even one left someone would know."

"Would that someone have to be you?" Willem asked, and the boy had no answer. After a moment he reached over and clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder, quickly pulling away when he felt the tension there. "Come along, little sorcerer, there is more for you to see."

#

The saddle was rent nearly in half, three great tears running straight through it. It had been luck for the boy that the horse had panicked and thrown him just before that; just as lucky for the horse that the girth-strap broke and its attacker's prize was only the saddle.

"It came roaring down out of the hills like living thunder, and took to the sky only when its prey near escaped," Balthazar said, quoting the boy in question. His fellow apprentices had met him in the courtyard and stood now, pale and speechless, eyes fixed on the saddle.

"Dragons don't care for flying," Veronica said distantly, reaching out to trace the longest gash in the leather.

Maxim shook himself at that. "Didn't care for it, and we've only this one boy's word. For all we know, he could have encountered a wyrm."

"A _wyrm_? Oh, Maxim." Veronica turned away, pacing the length of the courtyard, her simple dismissal answer enough. Balthazar held out his left hand, spreading the fingers as wide as he could, and compared it to the saddle. Wyrms were cousins to dragons, sure enough, but they were significantly smarter and had chosen to adapt, whereas the dragons had fought against the rising tide of mankind and paid the highest price. The average wyrm was human sized, the largest half again as big.

The claw marks on the saddle covered more than twice the range Balthazar's hand did.

"You cannot convince me that these provincials can tell the difference between a wyrm and a proper dragon," Maxim was saying to Veronica.

"And you cannot convince me there's a wyrm out there acting like a proper dragon!" Veronica shot back.

"This was not made by any wyrm," Balthazar added.

"Perhaps the villagers did it themselves, when they realized how flimsy the boy's story is," Maxim argued. There was a silence as the other two waited for him to realize the irony. When he did, he flushed an unpleasant red.

"There is also this," Balthazar produced a pocket of cloth and unfolded it. In the center was what looked to be a dust-green piece of metal, cast into an off-center diamond that arched forward, big as Balthazar's palm. Dragons normally shed all at once, five times in their life, but they would drop individual scales if they were damaged. All three had seen such scales before, although never so new- when separated from the dragon, the scales turned grey within a matter of days.

Maxim went grey himself. For a moment Balthazar thought he would be ill.

"We have to go," Veronica said softly. "Ride out for Merlin, if nothing else."

Although Maxim liked to cast himself in the role as leader of the three, he had no real authority over them. The other two tolerated his posturing because it was easier to let him strut and then turn around and do as they wanted regardless. Without Merlin, the rule went to the majority; two of three was enough.

"Very well," Maxim said, as if to reassert control. "We will deal with this problem."

#

Balthazar watched his own hands tighten the strap on the saddle, as if from a distance. His mind unhelpfully imposed the image of the slashed saddle over his and he pulled away quickly.

He wrapped the reins around his left hand, having to stop to untangle them briefly from his ring. He would be grateful when his right hand healed well enough to be used again; or, failing that, well enough that he could tolerate the pain of his ring. Merlin had tried to teach them to use both hands equally, but such a thing unfortunately required this sort of an experience to properly learn.

Maxim was waiting for him when he led his horse into the courtyard. Having been exposed to the cultural inequalities between the genders, however briefly, Balthazar had suggested Veronica forgo her normal gown and make this trip dressed as a boy; she had agreed. This gave the two boys a few minutes to themselves before she came down. Balthazar already had a fairly good idea of how this conversation was going to go.

"There is no dragon, to the east or anywhere," Maxim said, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge even the possibility. Balthazar said nothing to this, as there was nothing to be said; Maxim would likely refuse to believe in dragons right up until he found himself sliding down one's gullet.

"I'm after Merlin," Balthazar said evenly, meeting Maxim's gaze. "Dragon or not, there is something out there, and he needs to know of it."

Maxim nodded once; he'd expected as much. The two may not care much for each other, but their lives sometimes depended upon knowing how the other thought. Thus they both also knew Veronica wouldn't care for splitting up, so Balthazar had to leave now.

"The dragon- if there is one- is to the east," Maxim instructed him as he swung himself onto the horse's back. A chestnut mare; the same one he'd ridden out on earlier. "If you head due north, you should encounter no difficulties."

There was an ominous pause, for even in those days they understood the concept of famous last words. Then Balthazar gave Maxim a nod and kicked his mare into a canter, anxious to be on his way.

Dragon to the east. Darkness to the north. Merlin keeping secrets and now gone. This was no coincidence.

.

Veronica stopped there and shifted her gaze to the kitchen doorway. Unlike her audience, she had been tracking Balthazar's wanderings during the story.

"What, is that it?" Dave asked when she didn't continue. "That's not a story, that's- that's a _setup _to a story. That's the first twenty minutes of the movie. It can't end there!"

"It doesn't," Veronica said calmly, still watching the kitchen doorway.

"She doesn't know the rest of it," Balthazar called, not bothering to leave the kitchen, and thus confirming Veronica's suspicion that he had been listening. "I never told her. She has only a basic idea of what happened."

"We, Maxim and I, went to where the boy had encountered the dragon and found nothing. There were no bones, no burned trees or grass, no shed skin, no caves- no sign of a dragon at all. Maxim, of course, took this as solid proof that there was no dragon and wouldn't hear anything else. We returned to the tower just before…"

"Just before what?" Dave demanded. He jerked a thumb towards the kitchen doorway, where Balthazar now stood. "We know nothing serious happened to him."

Balthazar made a noise, not quite a snort. "I survived, Dave. That doesn't mean nothing serious happened, just that I got lucky."

'Getting lucky' was not a survival tactic Balthazar would ever admit to having relied upon before. Veronica watched him carefully. Balthazar had a surprising fondness for Dave. Their relationship was a cross between old friends and father-son, with none of the coolness and distance Merlin had subtly imposed with them. As much as he may claim otherwise, Balthazar was far closer to a mentor for Dave than anything else, and the boy could get away with things no one else could.

"Did you almost electrocute yourself?" Dave asked. Balthazar gave him a flat look. "Then it can't be that bad, right? C'mon, Balthazar."

That right there, the whole 'c'mon' thing in Dave's peculiar not-whining whine- that, Balthazar wouldn't tolerate from anyone else. Surprisingly enough, it worked. With a tired sigh, the old sorcerer dropped himself in the recently relocated armchair and folded his fingers together in front of him, gazing at his ring as he organized his thoughts. Veronica shifted forward as well as the two children. As Balthazar had said, she'd heard only the broad details. This would be her first time hearing the story as well.

#

Tr'Arlth the dragon, it should be noted, was connected with the dark to the north in only the loosest way- he was running from it. Of course, being a proud and disdaining beast, he would immediately deny running. He was, if asked, making his way down southeast at speed of amble. That his path led directly away from the evil to the north was merely coincidence.

His eventual goal was to get to the coast of the white cliffs and cross the straight to the land beyond. Unfortunately for him, getting there required flying, and a dragon past its second shedding simply could not rely on its wings for such a distance. They weighed too much and their wings, skin stretched taut over thin hollow bone, could not support them properly. Come summer, during what passed for the hot season on this miserable grey island, he would chance the crossing, but at this point summer was well past and winter was setting in. For now, he was trapped.

It should also be noted that, while the dragon was biggest and fiercest of the creatures heading south, he was not the only one.

.

One such creature was crouching in a tree, watching what it hoped would be its next victim. The problem, of course, was that some victims protested that status, and sorcerers especially were a dangerous lot. The creature had only trifling magic to claim as its own, and most were only to help influence the unwary. In a head-to-head fight with a sorcerer, this creature didn't even manage to stand no chance- its presence likely wouldn't even register.

Still, nabbing a sorcerer earned you quite a bit of prestige, and sorcerers were so delicate in their own way. This one was young, perhaps still a learner, and the ring that gave him his power was ill-fitting. He fiddled with it constantly, probably not even realizing he was doing so.

The creature's goal in life was not to steal, or to kill, or even to hurt. It was merely to cause mayhem. Not that long ago it had run across a man with a twisted leg and no food to eat- a thief who had need of a horse to ride and trinkets to sell. A man with little morals and who would think nothing of taking what he needed from a careless young rider. A man easily manipulated.

The little thing gave a very soft cackle- couldn't be too careful with those spell-slingers- and darted away.

#

The horse was a skittish one, starting at every noise. She kept Balthazar tense and jumpy as well, annoyed with himself for his foolishness. He had grown up around here. He knew the dangers, few as they were.

Ever a sorcerer's greatest flaw, to disregard the human element.

He was a day and a half out and had already come across two of the markers Merlin left in case they needed to find him. They also had a mirror, which allowed for instantaneous communication, but using it drained considerable energy from both parties. That was saved for the strictest emergencies, which this was not. Not yet.

Forest gave way to open plain and forest again, deeper and thicker and older than the one Balthazar was familiar with. There was power here, a sort of ambient magic that he could almost taste, and he found himself not entirely comfortable with this. He was veering towards the east, drawn to the next marker, allowing Merlin's magic to take the lead. Now he was towards heading both the darkness to the north and the dragon's ill-defined territory to the east.

"Where were you going?" he asked his absent master, voice loud in the near-silent forest. His horse twitched one ear back towards him before returning her attention to her surroundings. She didn't care for this any more than her rider.

They had found the path again and were in a clearing of sorts when she felt the sting.

#

The thief didn't know why he'd thought of it, unable to see the little creature crouching on his shoulder whispering into his ear. He simply knew that he was waiting on a rise overlooking the path, waiting for the boy on the nervous chestnut mare. She would scare easy, he knew. She would bolt and if he were lucky, she would throw her rider into a tree and break his neck. There was a line between stealing a killing, and for his own sake the thief refused to cross it, but if the horse did it for him…

Besides, that little voice whispered, this boy needed to live.

He carefully tucked a small, sharp-edged stone into the cloth sling, preparing to swing it. The horse would bolt and tracking her down would be damnably difficult. It didn't matter. He was used to walking.

The sling did its job admirably, the stone scoring the mare right on the flank. Her rider barely had time to blink before she was rearing and screaming, pawing the air with sharp hooves. The boy was a good rider- he knew better than to try to sit that out, and instead got off the horse as quickly and gracefully as possible. Not quickly enough, unfortunately, for as soon as both feet were on the ground the mare swung her hindquarters into him, swatting him as though he were an annoying insect. Then she was gone, thundering down the path.

The thief took his time, to see if the boy was awake and merely trying to catch his breath. No movement. He picked up the pace and soon crouched over the boy. On his left hand was a ring with a large yellow-green stone. The thief didn't even hesitate.

Hovering over his shoulder, the imp giggled.


	4. The Imp

Welcome to chapter four. This morning I yelled at myself for being lazy and not writing a damn thing in almost a week, and so I sat down and wrote this in four hours. For once my most-used key- delete- was barely touched. I like how this turned out, even if there's basically no dialogue and some people will be bored as hell with it.

There's a one-line, throwaway reference to my other fic, In the Key of B Sharp, in here. Bonus points to those who find it. The dragon's chapter will be the next one, so no more dragging.

Disclaimer: me no own.

#

There was something tugging at him.

Balthazar woke slowly, painfully, feeling remarkably as though someone had used his head for target practice. His last memory was heading down the road, his horse nervous but not overly excited about anything in particular, and then nothing.

The tugging increased, trying in vain to remove his necklace. The thing was only a pretty riverstone he'd found too long ago to remember; tied as it was to a strip of braided leather strung round his neck, it had absolutely no value of any sort save nostalgia. It had, through years of exposure, built up a sort of magical residue, and would sometimes vibrate gently for hours after exposure to a considerable amount of magic, but the thing was basically useless. Why anyone would want it was beyond him.

He opened his eyes slowly, trying not to wince at the bright sunlight, trying not to move at all. The hands on his neck were far too small to be human; that, and knowledge of what sort of creature would profit from the residual echoes of magic, told him exactly what he was dealing with.

_There's no need to be gentle,_ Merlin had said about imps. _They're difficult to hurt, and odds are they deserve whatever pains you inflict._

The imp gave a satisfying shriek when his right hand shot out and wrapped around it; he squeezed tightly out of pure animosity and then passed it over to his left hand. It was the size of a large rat, or perhaps a small rabbit- large for an imp. He gave it a sharp shake and dropped it flat against the ground.

Now, one problem solved. As for the other- what had happened?

He tried to sit up and quickly aborted the motion, resting his pounding head on the grass and sheltering his eyes with his free hand. The imp struggled and kicked and clawed- a three-day-old kitten could do more damage- and swore. Oh, did it swear. Balthazar had never heard such language before. He would have been impressed if he could focus on the actual words, but they flowed over him like water.

The dizziness and pain passed, lingering on the very edges of his awareness and encroaching only if he moved too quickly. The nausea did not. The bitter taste of bile rose to the back of his tongue and he forced himself to move, rolling over and scrambling on hands and knees to put some distance between himself and the place he'd woken up, although why he bothered he couldn't say. He got as far as a healthy man could manage in three strides before the heaving began.

Once that unpleasant business was finished, Balthazar took a deep breath and glanced down at his captive. The imp had been suspiciously silent throughout, and now he saw why- in leaning forward on his hands, he had instinctively favored the injured right, thus balancing most of his weight on the left. Had it been any ordinary creature, it would have been fatal, but the imp was glaring at him silently if hatefully.

In looking at the imp, though, he noticed something else that caused the world to halt in its tracks.

He had been expecting it, he realized as he searched feverishly, shifting the imp-free hand through the dirt and leaves on the path. Some part of him had known his ring would be gone the second he realized it was an imp. The conscious part of his brain, unfortunately, had refused to acknowledge this, and the final realization came as a brutal shock.

The fruitless search ended once he reached the far edge of the road. He rested on his heels, carefully probing at the back of his head with his fingertips. They came away sticky with blood, though thankfully not very much.

Well, this wasn't all bad. He wasn't too far from the tower, nor too badly injured to walk back. He didn't much care for showing up there in two or three days, bloody and bedraggled and without his ring, but he would be safe there. And his losing his ring would certainly qualify as an emergency, thus summoning Merlin home. Creating another focus ring would be difficult and time-consuming and he had no doubt Merlin's opinion of him would be irrevocably tarnished, but he would survive. That was the important part.

"Where is my ring?" he asked the imp. Maybe he could avoid all that fuss. The imp stuck out its tongue.

Imps were the magic world's version of rats: more annoying than anything else, they were occasionally dangerous when circumstances warranted, and only the most sensitive of bleeding hearts balked at killing one. He bapped the little monster's head against the road and was informed of his mother's questionable virtue in reply.

"Where is my ring?" he repeated, enunciating each word slowly. The imp, clearly sensing that this line of interrogation could continue all day, grumbled and sulked and finally answered.

"Man took it."

"What man?"

"Thief-man. Limp man." And the imp hooted, as though it had just made a clever joke. Balthazar gave it a moment, then squeezed again. He didn't have a stomach for torture, even if the victim was a well-deserving imp, and wanted this over with.

"What was his name?" The imp gave him a look of pure disgust. "Fine. I assume he took my horse as well?"

"Horsey gone," the imp said, and giggled again. Balthazar sighed and once again reached back to probe his wound. It hadn't disappeared in the minute or so since he'd checked on it last. A nice large lump was growing around it. He tasted no blood and didn't feel sleepy, so it was only a nasty bump to have knocked him unconscious. There was no lasting damage.

In the silence, he heard it- a low, distant noise, barely within the human audial register. It sounded like a bellows working, or perhaps the heartbeat of some great creature. He frowned in puzzlement and likely would have stayed there, or perhaps even gotten up to wander to a bigger clearing in the hopes of seeing what could cause such a noise.

The imp saved him. It heard the noise also, head tilting to one side, and promptly panicked. Between the bites and shrieks Balthazar determined one word, and after a moment's shocked stillness, it galvanized him into action. He pulled himself to his feet, wobbly and still somewhat dizzy, and darted off the road. The forest was young and full of beech and hazel trees. It took him a heart stopping two minutes to find a tree big enough; once he had he pressed his back to it and slid to the ground. The thief had kindly left him his cloak, and he pulled the hood up, tucking it tight around his face.

The dragon felt no need to announce itself. It was, after all, king of all it surveyed. Its thunderous bellows and roars were spared for challengers, of which there were none. The only warning was the sound of its wings beating. Balthazar closed his eyes as it approached, hoping- praying- the rumors he'd heard were false and dragons couldn't actually smell a drop of spilt blood for leagues.

Because of his hiding spot, Balthazar couldn't really see the dragon. He did look up to watch a silhouette fly by high overhead, view mostly blocked by the treetops. There was an impression of something large and green, and then it was gone. The wingbeats hadn't faltered, hadn't slowed or sped up, and he allowed a soft sigh of relief.

In his hand, the imp was silent and watchful, eyes too large for its skull wide and rolling. The little beast had easily accepted the fact that its own fate was tied to its captor's and had gone statue-still. Now it began to squirm again, half-heartedly, and Balthazar gave it a mild shake.

"Which way did the thief go?" he asked, and the imp pointed in a direction perpendicular to the dragon's current route. Balthazar was half relieved- this bettered his chances of catching up to the man- and half disappointed- he almost wished the horse would panic at the dragon and throw her new rider as well, a fate he thoroughly deserved.

"How long ago was this?" he asked next, and received a blank look in reply. Imps didn't have much understanding of human time measurements. Ignoring this, he clambered to his feet, checked the wound on the back of his head one more time, and set out in the direction the thief had gone. It would take him reasonably close to the tower and away from the dragon in equal parts, although he was far more concerned about the latter at this point.

It wasn't until a solid half hour after he'd started moving that it hit him, all at once. He was powerless, which had all sorts of negative effects personally, but even worst for all involved, he'd just seen a living, genuine _dragon_.

He was dead.

.

Balthazar wandered into the kitchen, intent on more tea, leaving his audience gaping. As soon as he was gone- conveniently ignoring the fact that he was barely twenty feet away and most likely could hear every whispered word- Becky leaned towards Veronica.

"An imp?" she asked softly, clearly shocked. Veronica shook her head.

"All I know," she said equally quietly, "was that something happened and somehow a thief got hold of his horse and his ring. After everything was done, he and Merlin spent about three hours in the library talking it over. Once they came out of there, neither said another word on the matter."

"What happened to the dragon?" Becky pressed on. "I mean, you guys didn't…"

"Kill it?" Veronica finished. She made an odd gesture. "No. Last I saw of it, it was flying southeast. I believe it intended to cross the Channel; whether or not it made it, I have no idea."

"So there are no dragons still alive today." The younger girl seemed anxious to establish this; Veronica smiled at her reassuringly.

"It is possible, but highly unlikely." She started to say more but stopped, her gaze resting on Dave. He had pulled his own ring off and was rolling it in his palm, the metal still warm from his skin. After a moment's consideration he stood up and headed into the kitchen. Becky made as if to follow but Veronica stopped her with a gently restraining hand.

Dave paused inside the doorway, watching Balthazar pretend to be busy with his tea. After a moment the sorcerer turned and, spotting his apprentice, offered the opened bag of chips. Very typical- conversation was something of a lost art with Balthazar, although Dave now appreciated it, since he had no idea what he'd wanted to say. He took the chips and picked a few out.

"So you lost your ring too?"

Balthazar went over to the refrigerator and plunked a can of 7-Up on the counter near Dave. "Once."

Dave nodded at that- sorcery was a strict calling, and you rarely got the chance to learn your lesson once, let alone twice. Balthazar was a quick study and wasn't likely to make the same mistake twice. "Did you ever almost lose your powers?"

Balthazar considered the question. "Once Horvath and I created a griffin the size of a small elephant and Merlin tossed us out until we got rid of it. That's the closest I ever got, I think."

Dave smiled at the image that provoked. Somehow it was easy to imagine Balthazar as the troublemaking apprentice, driving Merlin half up a wall with his constantly having to rescue the reckless boy from himself. Like Balthazar did now for Dave, give or take a dozen centuries. There had always been an easy sort of camaraderie between them- for all his millennium's worth of accumulated quirks and eccentricities, Balthazar was an easy enough man to befriend- but now there was a sort of kinship. A bonding, as it were, over shared experiences. Dave had never had many friends, and the effortless friendship he now shared with this odd man constantly surprised him.

After a few more minutes of silence the two men headed back into the living room, where Becky and Veronica were politely discussing school, so as to not hear the conversation in the kitchen. Dave thought they might be forgetting that the male species didn't need nearly so much chatter.

.

By nightfall, Balthazar had come to two realizations. The first was that he no longer had any supplies with him. Water would scarcely be an issue in this land- it had rained once already and a heavy mist was still obscuring the forest around him, and it had been easy to find a small brook. He'd carefully cleaned the blood out of his hair and more vigorously cleaned the taste out of his mouth. Food also wouldn't be much of an issue, he knew how to make the forest provide for him. The problem was in keeping warm, for autumn was starting to lose the battle and winter was fast closing in. All Balthazar had was the clothes he wore now and his cloak, which was thin at best and meant to ward off the chill wind while riding. He also had no way of building a fire in this rain-drenched forest, or even starting one without his ring.

The second problem, and more immediate to his mind, was what to do with the imp. He'd carried it with him so far, loathe to release the creature that was responsible for his current predicament. However, there was no way for him to cage the thing. He had briefly considered trying it to a tree branch, but the only thing he had remotely resembling a rope was the braided strip of leather around his neck, which didn't knot well and wasn't nearly long enough. He also didn't want to kill the little beast, for it had saved him earlier, with the dragon.

He did have another option. Merlin might not approve, and Maxim certainly wouldn't, but Veronica might and her opinion carried more weight than he cared to admit.

The imp had long ago ceased its fussing, taking its captivity in stride and putting up only token protests when it remembered its role. It was fast asleep now despite the constant jostling it got as Balthazar moved.

Balthazar reached around and fumbled with the knot in the leather; after a few awkward minutes, he pulled it off his neck. Using his teeth more than his cold-clumsy fingers, he pulled the riverstone off and tied the strip of leather, which could yet prove useful, around his wrist. Then he gave the imp a shake.

"Here," he said as it protested in its own vulgar way, stopping abruptly when it saw the stone hovering in front of its nose. "You want this?"

"Pretty stone," the imp muttered, reaching out to touch it. "Magic stone. Want want."

"All right. Go get it." And he dropped the imp, pivoted on one heel, and threw the stone far as he could. The imp shrieked and took off after it without hesitation; Balthazar immediately turned and headed in the opposite direction. He didn't stop walking until his foot found an unseen root and he nearly twisted his ankle. Allowing that nothing would be gained from continuing on in such darkness, he settled down for the night, cloak wrapped tight around him.

#

The first cold of winter came that night, not that Balthazar was aware enough to know it. He was too preoccupied. He dreamed of horses and a nameless, faceless thief; of imps cursing at him for every wrong he'd ever done; of dragons, soaring high overhead and then not-so-high overhead, close enough to reach out and touch. He dreamed of his long-dead mother and Veronica, of white roses and black towers, of the open star-studded sky. He dreamed of ice and fire.

Between the pervasive damp and the sudden cold, he should have developed fever within minutes. He wasn't awake enough to wonder why he didn't.


	5. The Dragon

Enter the dragon. Roar, and whatnot. Congrats to those of you who guessed at what happens in this chapter; now tell me, what happens next?

Note that this is only Balthazar's first encounter with the scaly beast. There will be more. Also there's no time-switching in this chapter, as it felt awkward and I didn't like how it was fitting in. And yes, this chapter is up sooner than normal, but I felt there might actually, you know, kinda need to be a dragon in this story eventually.

Disclaimer: me no own.

#

The thief was as nameless as the imp had declared him to be. Once, he imagined, he'd had a name, since it seemed to be something you were born with. If you had a particularly unimaginative mother, you were given your grandsire's name. But if he'd had one, no one had ever thought to tell him. It didn't much matter; names were relatively unimportant when your only interaction with the rest of humanity was to leach off others.

The boy, though. He was high-born, the thief would bet his pretty new horse on it, and odds were straight on someone would be out looking for him by now. The horse was recognizable but his best way to cover ground quickly. He'd leave her to wander only when there was another horse to replace her.

For now, his safest bet was to avoid the villages and farms dotting the countryside. No telling where the boy might have come from. His horse came with a saddlebag full of supplies to last a few days; if that whelp had planned to live it rough for a few days, the thief could certainly do so as well.

He noticed the big farmer walking towards him, and started to veer away, straightening out again when the man called out to him. No need to attract attention, this was a simple farmer come to investigate the stranger. These were uneasy times, after all.

"Nice horse," the farmer greeted him, friendly enough if a bit cool. He was even bigger up close- if that draft horse standing a little ways away ever went lame, no doubt he could pull the plow in its place. The thief spared the big horse a second glance, noting the boy sitting on its bare back.

"She's all right," the thief replied. "Touch shy."

The big man nodded and stepped forward again, far too close for the thief's comfort, and patted the horse's neck fondly. "Where'd you get her?"

"I'm not really…" the thief pulled her away, wrapping the reins around his hand.

He knew he'd made a mistake in that second. The farmer had been thoughtful but reserved; watchful and wary but not yet ready to act on his suspicions. His gaze tracked the thief's hands, instinctively following the movement, and some decision was reached in between one heartbeat and the next.

The thief hauled the reins round, trying to startle his horse into bolting, but the farmer was faster. He caught the horse's bridle and pulled her up short, grabbing a fistful of the thief's shirt and yanking the man right off the beast's back. The thief found himself with a mouthful of grass as his right arm was twisted around behind him.

"This ring," the farmer said, cold as ice, "does not belong to you, friend."

"Yes, it does," the thief spat. By law of the highwayman, it did.

"No, it belongs to a boy named Balthazar. A sorcerer."

He froze at that, feeling the first true hints of panic. Outwitting a simple sheep-witted farmer was one thing. Evading the wrath of a sorcerer was something far different. "Sorcerer?"

"Aye, an apprentice sorcerer. I can't imagine his master will be all too amused to hear some foul mischief has befallen the boy."

"Sorcerer- I didn't-" the thief wheezed, trying to straighten out his words in his head. "He was alive last I saw him, and not even badly hurt. He's probably on his way home now!"

"Well, that is good to hear, I like that boy." Pause. "If you're telling the truth, that is. Merlin will know."

Very few people in all of the isles hadn't heard of Merlin. The thief closed his eyes, resigned to living out the rest of his life as a frog. Meanwhile the farmer straightened up and gestured to the boy. He had been posted on the border to keep an eye open for dragons. The thief was an unexpected catch. They were lucky the boy on watch was the one to have tended to Balthazar's horse earlier that week.

"Here," Willem said, holding out the ring as the boy came over. "Take this, and her, and ride to the tower. If the other two haven't returned yet, come back to the village and we'll go from there."

The boy nodded and headed off after the mare, who had wandered away during the brief scuffle. Willem, meanwhile, pulled the thief to his feet and set out for the village, the big draft horse following him placidly.

#

It was the sound that finally woke Balthazar. A long, slow, raspy drag that pierced through the haze of his bizarre dreams and slowly dragged him out. It took him a long couple of minutes to identify the noise: the deep breathing of sleep of some immense creature. It called to mind the great fishes sailors swore inhabited the endless sea to the west.

The air was dry and hot and tasted of brimstone and soot. Still half-asleep, not yet capable of coherent thought, Balthazar frowned muzzily and rolled over, pulling his cloak off as he did. It was almost uncomfortable here, and odd enough for it, for he remembered shivering himself to sleep last night-

There was a wall of green next to him, and it was breathing.

All vestiges of sleep fled and Balthazar went still. Some small corner of his mind promptly started screeching _dragon dragon dragon_ nonstop and only the mental disconnect of primal terror kept him from doing something fatally stupid.

Slowly he turned, following the shingle pattern of the scales to track down the beast's head. It wasn't in sight- there was a broad curve suggesting a long serpentine neck, the head down and hidden behind it. Its front legs were tucked under its neck in such a way as to suggest the neck was looped around and the head resting on its feet. Like a giant cat, Balthazar realized.

The dragon had settled itself in some sort of wallow that looked as though it had been dug out by sharp claws and smoothed down by the dragon's own body. With a start, he realized that this must be the dragon's so-called den. With no rock faces or cliffs or elaborate cave networks, the dragon had made do.

The tree Balthazar had fallen asleep against was behind him. At some point after that, the dragon had settled down into its 'bed' and Balthazar, seeking heat, had moved around the tree and close to the thing. Thankfully the dragon blasted heat like a forge; he didn't know how sensitive those scales were, or if the dragon would have awoken had he touched it.

Slow, very slow, and above all _quiet_, Balthazar rose and moved away, creeping and stopping and waiting and creeping again. He was near the hind legs, close to what would be the dragon's left hip if they had such things, and his close proximity to those clawed feet alarmed him, although not as much as proximity to the as yet unseen mouth would.

He had put a respectful distance between them- respectful considering the speed at which he was moving- when it happened. Perhaps the dragon, like most wild animals, didn't really sleep so much as lightly drowse, waking constantly to check its surroundings. Perhaps it simply had a predator-sense for nearby prey. Whatever it was, Balthazar looked around to see the neck lifting and curling, curving around towards him.

The head came into view, large and wedge-shaped. The mouth was full of long, sharp teeth, but it was the one eye Balthazar could see that he focused on. It was a milky yellow, the slit pupil a foggy grey. For one moment he entertained the wild hope that the thing was blind-

Then the fog rolled back, revealing itself to be a translucent eyelid. The pupil contracted instantly, becoming a narrow slice of black in in a field of deep gold, and rolled towards him. The lungs continued to inhale where there should have been a pause- a deep, bracing breath- and then Balthazar was running.

Something whipped around and caught him by the right leg, sending him sprawling. High above him the dragon shrieked, sounding like a hunting falcon rather than a proper dragon, and he scrambled back to his feet and bolted. His size was his greatest advantage; he could go places the dragon could not, ducking under low trees and darting through bushes. He took to the darkness, disdaining the path in the hopes of finding an older section of the forest where the trees grew close and too big to be pushed through.

There was an ominous pause in the screeching behind him, punctuated by a deep indrawn breath. He glanced back to see a mouth wide open, something glowing in the back of the throat-

He threw himself aside just as the blast of fire lit up the forest. Tightly controlled, he saw, and short- not even two second's worth. A narrow gout of flame. And the dragon, he noticed, had closed its eyes- the filmy layer once again distorted their true color.

"It's blind when it's breathing fire," he murmured, then rolled and launched himself up, once again weaving through the trees. Behind him the dragon chugged along, never going faster than a slow trot, unable to pick up any real speed in such a confined area. For now it would be content just to kill the intruder, for it had been badly startled and resented it greatly.

Balthazar's right knee was slow-burning with pain. His head was throbbing. He had slipped, fallen, and jumped back up more times than he could count, and his palms were shredded for it. He couldn't get enough air and his constant dodging so as to not present an easy target was making him dizzy and motion-sick. And, as if to make mockery of all his other problems, the forest fell away suddenly to open plain.

There was a river, broad and lazy. He saw it and disregarded it in the same glance, knowing it was too far. In the open the dragon could charge ahead at full speed unfettered or, even worse, employ its wings. Making his decision in the space of one heartbeat he turned left, skirting the edge of the forest.

Behind him the dragon exploded out of the trees, galloping several body lengths into the field before digging in its claws and turning. Balthazar stayed down and didn't move. So far the dragon had reminded him of two different creatures- a cat and a falcon- both in its movements and mannerisms. Cats were keen on movement but tended to not see anything that stood still; falcons, however, saw everything. He stayed still and prayed.

The dragon whipped its head back and forth, making full use of a neck as long as Balthazar was tall. He tensed, coiled, preparing to move- the dragon would not lightly accept defeat, and if it did what he thought it would…

The film came over the eyes and he was moving, taking the desperate gamble. The only option he had.

The world erupted into fire.

#

The dragon stopped his burning only when he found himself coughing fumes. He snapped his jaws shut, tasted sulphur, and coughed again. The plight of the fire-breathers, to always have the taste of ash on their tongue.

The protective opaque eye-cover rolled back once more and he surveyed his work. The forest was alight, a swath of trees burning equally on either side of the hole he had made. He lifted his snout and sniffed delicately at the air. There was meat roasting somewhere within the trees, perhaps a rabbit or small deer that had taken to its burrow when he had thundered past, but no dead human. Somehow the tricky little worm had evaded him.

He lifted his neck and swung his head round once more, looking in every direction. Humans were quick and sly and the panic he evoked tended to make them more so. Content that the pest was, if not dead, at least taken care of, he gave himself a congratulatory snort and started to make his way back to his hollow. It was cold out here. He much preferred to not start moving around until the warmest part of the day.

Behind him, the river splashed. He glanced back at it and snorted contemptuously- cold water, anathema to everything he was- before continuing on his way. Time enough to deal with the human later, if it wandered back into his territory.

#

Veronica settled herself carefully, kneeling on the carpet. The mirror sat propped against a basin in front of her. It was so tempting to call Merlin back, to abandon this mess into his capable hands. He would not have blamed her for doing so.

She started the spell that would connect her to Merlin, only to stop. She had nothing, only rumors and whispers and one torn-up saddle. Nothing Balthazar wouldn't be telling their master about in person fairly soon. She then started the spell that would allow her to speak to Balthazar and stopped it just as quickly. She had nothing new to tell him and just checking up on him would be an insult.

The ride out to the eastern land had, fortunately, been a short one. There was not a whisper of a dragon there; the village that lay just beyond had heard nothing about it. Maxim had taken this as proof final of the dragon's non-existence. They had gotten back only a few hours ago, and Maxim was content to let matters rest. Balthazar would either stay with Merlin or- more likely- be sent back, and life would go on much as it had before.

Hooves clattered on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Veronica rose and hurried out, trying to sort out the words of the young voice raised in panic. She paused in the doorway, then ran the rest of the way when she saw the visitor was riding Balthazar's horse.

"What happened?" she asked as the boy dropped heavily. The horse was frothing and fighting; as soon as her burden was relieved, she took off to the stables and the comforting presence of other horses. He had ridden her hard to get here quickly as possible.

"Willem- we found-" The boy bent over, hands on his legs. Veronica forced herself to calm down and fetched the boy some water. After a drink to steady himself, the boy explained how they had caught the thief. North, he said, and when Veronica held out her hand he dropped Balthazar's ring into her palm.

For a moment all she saw was that yellow-green stone. Then she whirled around, racing into the tower and yelling for Maxim. The boy didn't know what he'd had, for it was wiser to not admit to this, their gravest of weaknesses. The boy didn't realize that his having this ring meant Balthazar was powerless.

"What is it now?" Maxim demanded as she nearly ran him over in the corridor. Without a word she held out the ring.

Three minutes later Maxim was riding out with the boy, back to the village to talk to a thief. Veronica returned to the mirror and began the spell again. Merlin would not care for this news either, but it would bring him home. She veered off at the last second, casting the spell for Balthazar instead, knowing as she did so that she would get nothing as long as he didn't have his ring.

The mirror remained still, showing only her reflection, and she grimly cut it short and began once again, this time staying with Merlin. She hurried the spell as much as she dared- they had a friend to find, hopefully before a dragon did.


End file.
